The name Creost hung unspoken between the two men. ‘I agree,’ he said. ‘I’ll send to Urthryn immediately and tell him our feelings. Let him and Oslang make of it what they will.’
The fisherman nodded, then stood up. ‘Where are your men?’ he asked.
Girvan looked a little surprised. ‘In their billets I imagine,’ he replied.
The fisherman nodded again. ‘Come along,’ he said, reaching for his voluminous waterproof coat that hung behind the door.
‘Where?’ Girvan asked.
‘To rouse your men, and our own,’ the fisherman answered. ‘We must go to the high banks and cliffs and do our duty.’
Girvan hastily scribbled a note to complete his re-port and, sealing it, placed it in his pocket. ‘What can we possibly see in this weather?’ he said.
The fisherman shrugged. ‘We belong out there, Line Leader,’ he said. ‘Not in here. We should be listening to what the storm tells us.’
Girvan cast a longing glance at the fire, then reluc-tantly scraped his chair back and stood up. The fisherman smiled as he followed Girvan’s gaze.
‘Keep the hearth warm, my dear,’ he said to his wife, laying an affectionate hand on her shoulder. Then, throwing the Line Leader his cloak, he beckoned him towards the door.
Outside, the storm was fully as bad as it had seemed from the inside, the wind being all the more cutting for the near-freezing water it was carrying. Underfoot squelched the chilly remains of the earlier snowfalls which refused to thaw fully under this icy onslaught. Used though he was to many weathers, Girvan could not forbear grimacing. The fisherman did the same. ‘I’ve ridden out some foul weather in my time, but never anything like this. Come along.’
Soon a small crowd of fishermen and Muster Riders were huddling in the lee of the village’s meeting hall. There was little cheery banter. Girvan used his authority with the Riders.
‘Yes, I know we’d all rather be sat by these kind folks’ firesides, but if both Cadmoryth and I feel something’s amiss, then we must get out into the storm and listen. We are on duty, and we maintain the discipline of the Line, for all we’re on our feet. Is that clear?’
There were some desultory murmurs of agreement which Girvan knew was as near as he was going to get to enthusiasm that night. He felt in his pocket for the report to Urthryn.
‘Lennar,’ he said, peering into the group. The girl shuffled forward, a shapeless dripping mound of unwillingness, and Girvan thrust the document out to her. ‘You’re duty runner tonight if memory serves me. Mount up and get this to the Ffyrst as quickly as you can. Move inland. Don’t take the coast road. And I want you to tell the Ffyrst when and where this weather changes. It’s important. Do you understand?’
‘No, but I’ll do what you say,’ the girl replied, brightening a little at the prospect of riding away from this benighted and chilling place where the land seemed to be almost as wet and cold as the sea. She took the report from Girvan and, with a brief farewell to her friends, scuttled off into the storming night.
‘Where should we go?’ Girvan said, turning to Cad-moryth.
The fisherman answered without hesitation. ‘Out along the cliffs,’ he said. ‘It’s an onshore wind, there’s no danger, and there’s the best view by far.’
Girvan nodded. ‘Not that there’ll be much to see,’ he said.
‘Nevertheless, we’ll see whatever’s there,’ the fish-erman replied.
The path to the cliff top was steep, though not very long, and the untidy procession slithered up it in comparative silence. Once at the top, they spread out in a ragged line, fishermen and riders paired off and staring into the howling wind.
‘I can scarcely keep my feet,’ Girvan shouted, catch-ing hold of Cadmoryth for balance as a powerful gust struck them both.
More used to such conditions, the fisherman grinned and took hold of Girvan’s arm to sustain him. But his concentration was out to sea. ‘This is wrong,’ he said anxiously, his face close to Girvan’s. ‘I feel it more than ever now. This is no natural storm.’
‘Then it’s Creost’s work,’ Girvan said, though the strangeness of his own words made him feel disorien-tated. ‘Could the Morlider sail on us under cover of this kind of weather?’
Cadmoryth shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t think so,’ he said. ‘Certainly, no one would choose to sail when it’s like this. It’s different if you’re caught in it by accident, then you have to sail, but only from wave to wave, enough to keep afloat. You can’t look to sail to any greater purpose than that.’
Girvan scowled, painfully aware that he could not begin to think in terms of sea warfare. If Creost could indeed cause such a storm, what would be the reason for it. Was it simply to clear the sea and the shoreline of watchers? If so, it had been singularly effective, but then, as Cadmoryth had indicated, who could bring boats ashore and land men in such conditions?
A shout interrupted his reverie. Turning, he was surprised to see the lights of a rider cautiously negotiat-ing the steep path. He stepped forward to meet the newcomer. It was Lennar.
‘What’s the matter?’ he shouted, half concerned, half angry that his messenger had returned.
Lennar bent forward, water cascading off the hood of the large cape that some fisherman had lent her. ‘The storm faded away, barely a mile inland,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d want to know before I rode on.’
Girvan patted her arm. ‘Wait,’ he said, then, placing his fingers in his mouth, he blew a penetrating whistle and gesticulated to the nearest watchers. ‘Get back to the village, mount up and head north to where the cliff drops straight into the sea,’ he said to one pair. ‘And you go south,’ to another. ‘Take care, but be as quick as you can.’
‘What are we looking for?’ one of the men asked.
‘Just find out what’s happening to the weather,’ Girvan answered. There was an urgency in his voice that forbade any further debate, and the riders left quickly, like Lennar, only too happy to be away from this awful blustering watch.
Within the hour, both parties were back, however. The weather in the north and south was calm.
Girvan showed no emotion when he heard the news, but he felt his stomach churning as if he were about to vomit. ‘Give me the report,’ he said coldly to Lennar. Dutifully, she handed it to him.
Crouching down to shelter the document from the rain, Girvan wrote for a few minutes, then re-sealed it and returned it to Lennar.
‘Take someone with you,’ he said. ‘Full speed, maximum care. Take remounts.’ Then, turning to the newly returned riders, he said, ‘Raise the local Lines.’
‘What’s happening, Girvan?’ said Lennar, her face pale in the torchlight.
‘Just ride, girl,’ Girvan replied. ‘As well and as quickly as you can.’
As Lennar and her companion made their way care-fully back down towards the village, Cadmoryth turned to Girvan. ‘Behind the storm comes the Morlider?’ he asked.
‘I can see no other reason,’ Girvan replied. ‘This is the only stretch of shore for miles where boats could land. And where the cliffs become too steep, north and south, the storm abates.’
Cadmoryth wrapped his arms about himself and moved forward towards the cliff edge.
Abruptly, the storm was over. Girvan and the other watchers stood motionless on the cliff top. Tentatively the Line Leader lifted his hand to his head, as if unable to believe that the awful noise had indeed ended.
Below them, the sea, its recent demented fury for-gotten, broke prosaically over the long shoreline of the broad bay, and to the east, a clear cloudless sky lightened. But where a dark sea should have met the watery yellow sky with a sharp, clear edge, ominous ragged silhouettes waited. Girvan felt his chest tighten with fear. He screwed up his eyes in an attempt to see more clearly.
‘It’s them,’ he heard Cadmoryth say needlessly. Morlider islands! Swept close inshore under cover of the storm.
Girvan looked at the fisherman. ‘How far away are they?’ he asked, reaching out for something normal.